


once i have done my time

by neutrophilic



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Dreams, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, farming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:19:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neutrophilic/pseuds/neutrophilic
Summary: Marcus doesn't know what to do with himself now he's attained his heart's desire: restoring the Eagle to Rome. Esca has some ideas.





	once i have done my time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Plaid_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plaid_Slytherin/gifts).



> I hope you like it, The_Plaid_Slytherin!
> 
> All of my thanks go to a for an excellent beta. All remaining errors are my own.

Marcus felt the kind of unalloyed joy that he hadn’t known since childhood. The Eagle, his family’s honor, and Esca: all restored. Marcus felt his cheeks would crack if he smiled any harder. He had resolved a few hours back to try not to look at Esca so much; Marcus couldn’t seem to control his face when he did that. But Esca seemed to be similarly afflicted—whenever Marcus caught his eye and grinned helplessly—Esca’s stoic facade would temporarily recede, and he’d smile back. He looked somehow much younger. It made Marcus’s resolution all the more difficult to keep.

The one small niggling thing that kept Marcus from completely forgetting himself and doing something rash was that Esca wouldn’t tell him about any long-term plans. All Esca would say on the matter is that he’d tell him once they reached his uncle’s villa. While that wasn’t the most encouraging sign, Marcus tried to tell himself that Esca might just not know what he wanted to do and was stalling for time. After all, Marcus had never seriously considered what he’d do after he’d earned back his honor, and here he was.

When he was younger, before his mother died, he had a vague fantasy of telling her all about his marvelous feats, and her holding his hands and smiling at him in admiration. Beyond that, Marcus hadn’t thought about it. He figured he would be a solider until the day he died, working to build up enough honor and glory that his family’s name would shine for decades. But now those decades stretched before him, and all he knew was that he wanted Esca to be there with him.

As if catching the drift of Marcus’s thoughts, Esca glanced back at him. “I think we can make it to your uncle’s tonight, but it’ll be too late for dinner. Should we stop instead and get there in the morning?”

“We can make it back in time for boiled fish if we only rest every three hours, instead of two,” Marcus said, grinning.

“I thought you hated the fish,” Esca said. “You were always dragging me out hunting in hopes of catching something better.”

“That was before I spent months without a proper Roman meal and suffering through raw rats. Anything cooked, even overcooked, is better than that.”

Esca laughed, and Marcus felt a new thrill of victory. Esca barely ever smiled around Marcus, let alone laughed. Well, with the exception of their time with the Seal People, but that didn’t count.

In the end, Esca refused to budge on either the timing or length of the breaks, and Marcus retaliated by pushing their pace as fast as his leg would allow. The familiar landmarks around his uncle’s house spurred him to go even faster, despite Esca’s smiles turning into concerned frowns.

By the time Marcus made it past the threshold of his uncle’s house, he reckoned that his uncle would have only just sat down to supper. They'd arrived sooner than Esca anticipated—he hadn't taken into account how much easier it was to travel on well-built Roman roads. Marcus turned, intending to rib Esca about it, but they were intercepted by someone he didn't recognize, a man trying to stop them from going further into the villa.

The whole thing very quickly devolved into shouting. Esca put his hand on Marcus’s shoulder, an attempt to urge calm. His other hand on Marcus’s sword was more effective, since Marcus was loathe to knock him away.

“I’m his nephew,” Marcus shouted, drawing himself up. “Let me—“

“Marcus!” his uncle cried out, appearing with a carving knife in his hand. Esca stepped back immediately. “You’re alive!”

His uncle rushed across the room and enveloped him in a firm hug. Marcus felt very pleased and very awkward in turns.

“Yes,” he said, after his uncle had let him go, “and, even better, I returned the Eagle to Rome. My father’s hands were the last Roman ones to hold it before I recovered it.”

His uncle’s eyes filled up, and he made an abortive movement towards Marcus. “He would be so proud of you. I’m proud of you, though I am also immensely glad that you’re here to tell me this yourself.”

“Esca helped,” he said.

“Then I’ll direct part of my gratitude to him. Have you eaten?” his uncle said, looking down at the knife still in his hand. “I’ve only just started.”

Marcus shook his head.

“Do you want to change first? Your room is still free. I don’t have enough nephews in need of help to fill up my guest rooms.”

Marcus glanced at Esca, who scrunched his eyes slightly. He decided that meant yes.

“Yes.” He got all the way out of the room before doubling back. “I’m glad I’m here to tell you, too,” he directed at his uncle, then left in search of clean clothes.

Marcus found a conveniently located basin. Once he saw how much dirt came off, the initial reaction to his entrance made more sense. When he walked into the dining room wearing a fresh toga, he felt remade.

Esca had beaten him there. He must have informed someone about his change in status: he was lounging on a chair, wearing a toga of his own. It hadn’t been wrapped properly—the cloth was riding up on his arm—and Marcus could see the black ink of his tattoo peaking out. His stomach clenched.

Once Esca noticed Marcus watching him, he sat up and tugged everything back into place. He looked a perfect Roman sitting there. Marcus wanted him to push his sleeve back up.

"There wasn't time to prepare your favorites," his uncle interrupted, accompanied by a slave with a steaming brazier, "but there's a wild boar nearby that's been menacing anyone foolish enough to try to hunt it, if you want to trouble yourself."

"If Esca wants to," Marcus said, focusing on the food.

"Of course," his uncle said. "And I would like to hear how exactly you managed to rescue the Eagle."

Marcus, between bites of his meal, relayed the whole tale. At first, he kept turning to Esca and trying to get him to tell his side of the story, but Esca would only answer yes-or-no questions. Yes, Hadrian's wall was impressive. No, he'd never seen it before. Yes, the food now was much better than it was on the road. And so on.

Marcus gave up. He was no great orator, but the story didn't need any embellishment to be thrilling. By the time Marcus started describing the woods where the legion had fallen, his uncle was leaning forward in his seat and hadn't touched his food in minutes. 

Neither had Esca, but Esca was sitting with the kind of posture that wouldn't look out of place during training drills. He looked as if he were listening to a supremely boring story about two people he didn't know and it was a struggle to stay polite. Still, it couldn't completely sour Marcus's triumph: Esca had come back and followed him here of his own free will. There were no bonds of honor holding Esca to him now.

By the time Marcus finished, the candles had burned almost down to their base. He tried to snifle an enormous yawn, suddenly feeling immensely tired. He hadn't slept well in months, and Esca might have had a point about resting more frequently along the way. 

"We can talk more tomorrow," his uncle said, yawning himself.

When Marcus got back to his room, he hoped that Esca would join him and finally relay his plans for their future, but no such luck. He fell into his bed and, contrary to his expectations, his sleep was deep and dreamless.

Marcus woke late to the sound of thunder nearby. So much for that boar hunt. It took him longer than it should to realize that Esca was lurking near the door.

“Morning,” he said, when Marcus noticed him. Esca was dressed for traveling, his cloak wrapped around him and his pack slung over his shoulder.

“It’s raining,” Marcus said, his surety that they had shared plans washed away. He resisted pulling his blankets up closer to his chin.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not morning.”

“Where are you going?” Marcus asked, despite himself.

Instead of answering, Esca put down his bag and moved towards the chair near the bed. He gripped the back of the chair, the only sign that he might have any strong feelings about this conversation. Esca’s face, as usual, was hard to read. Had it been only yesterday that Esca had barely been able to stop smiling?

“Ever since my family was murdered, I’ve been picturing what I’d do if I managed to get free of Rome. I knew I couldn’t take my bow or my dagger and force the Romans out of Britain. I’m not the leader my father or my eldest brother was, so I knew I couldn’t count on much help from others. But I knew about the forest of heroes, and I knew that the Romans had given up on taking the north.”

Esca’s face might have been impassive, but his eyes were filled with an emotion Marcus couldn’t quite name. Not anger, or not completely anger, and not grief either.

“I was going to go north, as far north as I could stand, and I’d find myself a village. I’d have a farm, and I’d never have to think about Rome another day in my life.”

“Then why didn’t you do that?” Marcus asked. “Settle down with the Seal People, slit my throat, and only think of me to laugh at how foolish I was to believe you?”

“You know why,” Esca said, hotly. “My honor wouldn’t allow it.” His knuckles blanched, and he broke eye contact to look down at his hands. He laughed a little, bitterly. “I still want the farm even if it has to be in Roman Briton.”

“Is that where you’re going? To find a farm?”

“No,” he said, “I’m going to go find the field where my family was cut down and pay my respects. As a free man, I can do that. And then I’m going to come back, and we can talk about what comes after that.”

“A farm,” Marcus repeated.

“You don’t have to join me.”

“No,” Marcus said, the idea becoming more appealing by the second. A place somewhere quiet where he could make a home with Esca sounded wonderful. “I want to. I just never thought I’d be a farmer.”

“Well, think about it while I’m gone,” Esca said, his hands relaxing. “It’ll take a month, no more than two. If I take longer than that, I’m sure that you’ll be able to find me. You’ve got enough experience with that.”

“Only with your help.”

Something in his voice made Esca’s head jerk up and meet Marcus’s eyes again. Esca walked over to the bed and sat on the edge. He leaned forward and grabbed Marcus’s forearm, who promptly gripped Esca’s in return.

“I’ll be back,” Esca said, searching for something in Marcus’s face, “I swear it.”

Then he got up, hoisted his pack up, and was gone.

———

When Marcus told his uncle over breakfast that Esca wouldn’t be joining them because he’d left on a month-long journey, his uncle raised his eyebrows.

“And when he gets back, we’re going to buy a small farm,” Marcus said.

His uncle’s eyebrows rose further. “A farm,” he said, mildly.

“Yes, and I was hoping you’d be able to help us.”

“What do I know of farming?” he asked, amused.

“Besides the fact that you own a large tract of land that you farm on and do quite well for yourself, you’ve lived in Britain for decades and know every place that might be suitable.”

“I have very capable people that manage that land, and flattery can’t get you everything.”

Marcus knew that. It wasn’t in his nature to proffer honeyed words. And he hadn’t had much success when he’d tried to cultivate the skill in hopes of being considered for riskier assignments. Every compliment, even the ones he’d prepared in advance, felt false and landed poorly.

But his uncle must have learned something from Marcus’s quest for the Eagle, and he didn’t try to dissuade him. Instead, he encouraged Marcus’s ambition. He handed Marcus every scroll he owned on the subject, and Marcus applied himself to reading them. Two weeks later, his uncle had suggestions for likely towns—all within a few days' travel from his villa Marcus noted—and offered to send for more information on any that Marcus thought seemed appealing.

His uncle even rearranged their socialization schedule. To Marcus's embarrassment, he noticed that there were suddenly more dinners and soaks in the baths with local landowners, rather than with men with young, pretty daughters looking to marry. He should have recognized his uncle’s matrimonial hopes for him, but Marcus had thought that there was such a surplus of young women ready to look up through their lashes at anyone who could be passed off as heroic that his uncle hadn't much choice. But now, his uncle ably led the conversation from Marcus’s successful recovery of the Eagle to the best crops to grow in the rainy British weather. All Marcus had to do was sit there and smile when appropriate.

His uncle’s support helped make the wait marginally more bearable. Marcus had never been a particularly patient person, though that, at least, he had worked at. Most of being a soldier was waiting. Waiting to march out, waiting to start a fight, even waiting in the midst of it all for the right moment. He’d always wanted to charge right in, but while his life might be cheap, his life plus all the other soldiers he might endanger was too high a price. And besides, his life wasn’t worth enough to buy back his family’s good name with it alone—unless he spent it very carefully.

Now he had his life and the person he wanted to spend it on was out of his reach.

However, his uncle couldn’t help himself from trying to talk Marcus out of it. Four weeks and three days after Esca had left, Marcus was sitting on the chair that had the best view possible of the door, trying to read Vergil’s _Georgics_. It didn’t have very much useful advice and most of the descriptions of bucolic life just made him violently homesick for Rome.

“My friend, the Legate of the 6th Legion, wrote to me yesterday,” his uncle said, standing at the side of Marcus’s chair.

Marcus put his finger down to hold his place.

“He told me that while reforming the 9th hasn’t gone through all the proper channels, it’s only a matter of time. There’s already a list of worthy candidates, but the politicking to narrow it down might take a while.”

“Oh,” Marcus said.

“But your name would top everyone else’s.”

“I can’t do that and retire to a farm though.” He glanced out in the direction of the road again. No Esca.

His uncle sighed. “There’s still time to think about it.”

Marcus didn’t. He returned to his book and continued to read about bees and the ways in which their lack of culture doomed them. That night he dreamed that Esca had turned into a bee and had gotten lost in a field of flowers. When Marcus found him and opened his mouth to ask what happened, Esca stung him on his upper lip and disappeared. It wasn’t the worst dream Marcus had had recently.

That Gaul who’d incited the rebellion back at the fort hadn’t only stolen his leg from him and his identity as a soldier, he’d also robbed Marcus of his sleep. Before, Marcus had been able to nod off at a moment’s notice in any position and be awake just as suddenly, already reaching for his armor or his sword. He’d always woken refreshed and the few, insubstantial dreams he could remember were easily shaken off. But now, his scar pulled painfully unless he held it exactly right, and it took him hours to drag himself completely from his dreams. It hadn't been much of a problem when he'd been recovering. If he fought new battles every night that all ended with a sword or a spear biting deep into his thigh, what did it matter? Nobody depended on him.

The situation had been different when he’d been marching north with Esca in search of the Eagle. Poor rest could get both of them killed, and getting lost in nonsense would just mean they'd be even more lost in real life. New dreams too were added to the rotation. He dreamed of his father stepping out from behind every large tree they passed, of his mother, deep in the grips of a fever that would never let her go, calling him by his father's name. And over and over and over again, he dreamed he was Tantalus. It was always the same: he was dressed in his full armor, submerged in clear, sweet water up to his waist, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not cup any of it in his hands. 

Marcus hadn't needed an augury to interpret his dreams. The Eagle, his honor—it was all near at hand, but not near enough. What he didn't understand is why these dreams persisted even now, with the Eagle safe in Roman hands and himself safe in a comfortable bed.

———

Esca didn’t return until six weeks and three days after he left. Marcus had been half planning a rescue mission since week five. Esca had swore that he would return, and Marcus knew how seriously Esca took his oaths, but yet—

But none of it mattered. Not the sleepless nights, not the profoundly boring reading, and not his uncle’s increasingly poorly hidden concern. Esca had come back.

Esca looked tired and thinner, but he was still the best thing that Marcus had seen in six weeks and three days.

Marcus jumped out of his chair and hurried to him, detailed descriptions of the most appealing possible farms forgotten in his rush.

“You’re back!” he said and reached out to grip Esca’s forearm.

Esca returned the gesture and the feeling of his cold fingers against Marcus’s bare arm made his hand spasm.

“I am,” Esca said, gravely.

“How was your journey?” Marcus asked, leading Esca back to the house by his arm.

“Long.”

Marcus looked at him with fond exasperation.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he said. “Did you think about what I suggested?”

“The farm? Of course.” He picked up the notes and brandished them at Esca. “I even have a list of places we could move to as soon as you’d like.”

“As soon as I like. Even if I wanted to do it today?” Esca asked, grinning broadly.

“Not today,” Marcus admitted, “but within a fortnight should be manageable.”

Marcus rustled up some bread, soft cheese, and spring onions for a late lunch. He read the descriptions to Esca while he ate.

“I could read it myself,” Esca said, with a small piece of cheese smeared on the corner of his mouth.

Marcus glanced up. “You could?”

Esca made a face. “When I was first enslaved, they wanted to make me a scribe.”

Marcus tore his eyes away from Esca’s mouth and met his eyes. He knew so little about Esca’s past and nothing at all about the period between his family’s death and when Marcus pleaded for his life in the gladiatorial arena.

Esca wiped at his lips and then relented. “I learned Latin the fastest of all of the boys they rounded up. They trusted me enough to dictate letters by the time I ran away for the first time.”

When it became apparent that Esca wasn’t going to say anything further on the subject, Marcus made to pass over the paper.

“It’s fine,” Esca said. “I don’t mind you reading it to me.”

———

In the end, it took them almost a full month to arrange everything so they could move to their new farm. The choice, once Esca had returned, was obvious: a small cottage about two or three days away that had belonged to an elderly couple. Their son had managed to make much of himself back in Rome and had arranged for them to join him. It was somewhat isolated, but it was within easy walking distance of a small town and there was a slightly more distant fort. Marcus had been warned that the house itself was in need of repairs, but it had a vegetable garden, a field already planted with wheat, several apple trees, a few chickens, and a small herd of goats.

When they’d finally been ready to leave, his uncle had taken him aside. “I expect visits, if the goats can spare you.”

“I’ll try,” Marcus said.

His uncle looked at him one last time. “You’ll make a fine farmer. I believe you can do anything you set yourself to. I just hope that it’ll make you happy.”

And with that, they left. Marcus had turned over his uncle’s words in his head the whole time and was too preoccupied to make easy conversation with Esca. Not that Esca seemed to notice. While they had spent whole days in silence north of the wall, Marcus had thought this journey might be different. But it was strikingly similar, even down to the dreams at night.

On the last day of their journey, Marcus, casting about something to break the awful quiet, asked Esca what he thought minor repairs actually meant.

“The roof’s partly falling in,” Esca said, after considering it for a moment.

“I was betting that the walls would need shoring up.”

“Maybe it’s not minor at all. Possibly the whole house is fine, but there’s no front door.”

“No roof would be worse.”

“Or what if there isn’t a house at all, just a pit in the ground,” Esca said, warming to the topic.

They continued on in that manner, throwing out implausible suggestions until Marcus was worried he’d fall off his horse from laughing so hard. It was so stupid, he couldn’t figure out why it was still so hilarious.

He sobered up once they finally, finally got to the farm. It wasn’t a pit by any stretch of the imagination, but it’d need a lot of work to become truly comfortable. The cottage was smaller than either of them expected and the roof, while intact, clearly needed urgent repairs. The inside was ruthlessly clean—most likely courtesy of the one slave the previous owners had left behind until the property could be sold—and there was a surprising amount of light. But all of the furniture had seen better days. There was only one bed, and it creaked alarmingly when Marcus tested it with his hand.

“I can take the pallet,” Esca said.

“We can trade,” Marcus insisted.

Esca ignored him to walk out the door and inspect the rest of the property. Marcus followed. The animal pens were at least in good repair and both the chickens and all three of the goats seemed fine. Most of the plants in the vegetable garden were unfamiliar to Marcus, but Esca seemed able to identify which plants belonged there and which ones were weeds. 

———

That night, Esca installed himself on the pallet by the fire before Marcus could start that conversation again.

“Esca—” he said.

“Good night, Marcus,” Esca said and rolled over.

Marcus had another of his dreams of battle. He didn’t know where he was and none of the soldiers around him had faces. Somehow he’d forgotten both his shield and his sword, but the faceless man next to him gave him his. In the next moment, the enemy was upon them. They too were missing their faces, but they were painted blue, so it was easy enough to tell friend from foe. Marcus acquitted himself well until his shield dissolved, and then there was the familiar bite of a spear deep in the flesh of his thigh.

“Marcus—“

He jerked awake. Esca was leaning over him with his hand hot on Marcus’s shoulder. Marcus gasped at him, mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

“You were shouting,” Esca said, and removed his hand.

He returned to his own bed before Marcus could think to ask his forgiveness.

“Is it your leg?” Esca asked over breakfast. “That troubles your dreams.”

Marcus shifted uncomfortably. “My leg is the same.”

Esca hummed to himself and didn’t broach the subject again that day.

———

Their days quickly fell into a routine. Esca did whatever fieldwork needed doing, took care of the animals, and brought back various small things every few days, like herbs that he hung from the rafters or fish he’d caught. Marcus tended the garden, applied himself to repairing the house as best as he was able, and helped Esca as much as possible. Somehow, he ended up doing the majority of the cooking, despite his limited repertoire of dishes. It took two straight weeks of eating the same slightly burnt beans before Marcus wrote to his uncle asking if a cookbook could be spared. His uncle promptly sent him _De re conquinaria_ but it was of limited utility. So many of the ingredients couldn’t be easily found in their corner of the empire.

Esca also ended up doing all of the shopping in town. He was much better at haggling and was unable to teach Marcus all of his tricks. “You take it too seriously,” he’d said, which was not a particularly helpful piece of advice.

The nights were the same. Esca refused to let Marcus take his turn on the floor, and every night Marcus’s dreams troubled him. Mostly he dreamed his Tantalus dream, but at least once a week, Esca would shake him awake, his leg throbbing.

———

Not too long after they moved, Marcus came in from the garden and noticed that most of the herbs had been taken down. Esca was sitting at their table covered in light.

“Here,” Esca said, holding a small pot out to Marcus. “It’s for your leg. I couldn’t remember all of the herbs that my grandmother would have used, but I think this is close. I hope it helps.”

Marcus took it and sniffed it cautiously. It smelled bitter and smoky and vaguely of mint. Before bed, he carefully applied it, and it did seem to ease something deep in him.

That night, when he bent down to try to drink in his dream, the water was green and reeked of mint.

———

It took almost until the summer solstice before Marcus felt he had a handle on his new life.

“Do you think the house can spare you for the afternoon?” Esca asked, early one morning. “I have something to show you.”

His surprise ended up being a small pond not too far away that was perfect for swimming. Or so Esca said. Marcus had never progressed beyond floating on his back.

“I can show you,” Esca offered, already stripped down.

Marcus averted his eyes and demurred. The pond wasn’t as cold as he expected, and Marcus was content to float, examining the clouds while Esca swam laps around him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to learn?” Esca asked from somewhere near Marcus’s left side.

Marcus wouldn’t look. He couldn’t. “Another time.”

Esca was quiet on the way back to their house. The feeling of his hair drying in the sun was pleasant enough that Marcus didn't realize Esca was furious until they arrived home.

“The pond was nice,” Marcus said, awkwardly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you,” Esca said. “And besides, it’ll pass.”

“If I offended you by not wanting you to teach me how to swim—“ Marcus began.

“You didn’t,” Esca said, heated. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Then—“ Marcus tried again.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Esca started fiddling with their cooking pot.

“We have to live together,” Marcus said, attempting to sound calm, “if there’s something the matter, then you should tell me.”

“Oh, like you tell me every time your leg bothers you.” Esca put down the lid to punctuate his statement.

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It is,” Esca said, turning to face Marcus.

“I tell you some of the time,” Marcus said. Then, making an effort to even out his tone, continued, “and you don’t tell me anything. You could have told me what your plan was with the Seal People instead of keeping me in the dark.”

“I couldn’t have told you, we were never alone.”

“We were the only people that spoke Latin! It didn’t matter if we were alone.” 

“You would have never been able to keep the secret,” Esca said, disdainfully. “You show everything on your face.”

Marcus felt stricken. They hadn’t fought, not really, since the Seal People had caught them. Somehow he’d thought they’d put that behind them.

“See,” Esca said. “I upset you.”

They ate their dinner in silence. It was tasteless, but Marcus wouldn’t have been able to appreciate even the most gourmet meal.

“I should apologize,” Esca said, scouring the pot with his back to Marcus. “For what I said this afternoon.”

“I still don’t understand why you were so mad,” Marcus said, mulishly.

Marcus could hear Esca start to clean with even more vigor, before abruptly stopping. “Do you know why I stayed away so long earlier?” Esca asked.

“I thought you came back as soon as you were done.”

Esca laughed, meanly. “I didn’t. I could’ve been back within the month. But I wanted to see how long I could stay away.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. You were free to leave and never see me again,” Marcus said.

“I couldn’t. I can’t.” Esca wouldn’t say anything more, and Marcus suddenly didn’t want any more answers to his questions.

In his Tantalus dream that night, for the first time, Esca was there. He dispassionately watched him struggle with trying to lift the still water up to his mouth for a long time. Then, Esca reached over and slowly started to unbuckle his helmet. He didn’t touch Marcus even once, just the straps. Marcus awoke, heart pounding, when Esca began to lift it from his head.

———

Esca apologized again the next morning, this time much more sincerely. Marcus accepted it, but the air was still tense between them.

Marcus wanted it to go away. He wanted to stop thinking about it all: his dreams, the color of Esca’s eyes, and his running tally of how many times Esca smiled in a day around him. He yearned for how much easier it had been when all he wanted was to restore his honor. And mostly he just wanted—but Marcus never let himself complete the thought.

It wasn’t like it was easy, he thought to himself furiously late at night after he’d startled himself awake from yet another bad dream. He’d already given up the life he expected to have and any chance at greater glory for Esca. How could Esca ask for more? It didn’t matter if—

Marcus shifted irritably. The fact that Esca had sacrificed much more when he’d turned his back on the Seal People rankled at him. He turned over again and the bed let out a tremendous creak.

“Are you alright?” Esca said, quietly.

“Did I wake you?”

“No.”

Marcus didn’t fall back asleep the whole rest of the night, tormented by his thoughts instead of his dreams for once. From the sounds of Esca’s breathing, he too couldn’t sleep, but neither of them said anything until the sun came up.

Later in the evening, when Esca returned with the goats, he brought back a basket full of strawberries and a bundle of herbs.

Wordlessly, Marcus helped Esca hang the herbs around their window.

“I noticed that the poultice I made you was running low,” Esca said casually, picking up the strawberries. “Do you think we should eat all of them now or pickle half of them for later?”

“What?” Marcus said, too lost in his own head to follow Esca’s leaps in logic.

Esca repeated himself. Something about that small, domestic moment made it abundantly clear to Marcus that it was only a matter of time before he gave in. He wanted Esca too much to stop himself, and he loved him too much to leave.

Esca frowned. “Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Marcus said, grinning. If it was only a matter of time, then, if he chose, the time could be now.

“I could have eaten all of these strawberries earlier instead of bringing them back to you,” Esca said, snappishly.

“You wouldn’t have,” Marcus said and started to move towards him.

Esca grabbed a handful of the strawberries and shoved them in his mouth. “I’ll eat them right now, then.”

“You won’t,” Marcus said and took his hand. And before his courage left him, he kissed Esca briefly on the mouth. His mouth was warm against his and he tasted of the sun and of strawberries.

Marcus had absolutely no idea what he was doing, going mostly on the kind of talk that had made his ears burn back when he was a soldier. And there was a part of his mind that was screaming at him about his honor, but the way that Esca grasped at his tunic was gratifying enough that he dared to try it again.

This time, Esca cradled his jaw tenderly, and Marcus’s whole body ached with it. He was breathing heavily by the time Esca pulled away, and it took an enormous act of willpower not to sway back into him.

“I won’t regret this,” Esca said, eyes dark, “even if you run back to your uncle’s house.”

“I won’t,” Marcus said, pushing his hand through Esca’s hair. “I can’t.”

At that, Esca firmly pulled Marcus back to him and opened Marcus’s mouth with his. All of Marcus’s lingering doubts melted away. He made a sound of protest when Esca stopped kissing him again. He didn’t understand why Esca had to stop.

“I’ve been thinking about this for such a long time,” Esca said lowly into Marcus’s ear. “I didn’t think it’d ever happen.”

“What did you think about?” Marcus asked.

“Everything,” he said promisingly and kissed the delicate skin behind Marcus’s ear until he shivered. “I thought about everything.”

By the time they made it over to the bed, Marcus’s mouth was swollen from kisses and Esca’s neck was flushed, but they still had on all of their clothes. Marcus carefully traced Esca’s skin along the collar of his tunic. 

“And you, what did you think about?” Esca asked, intent.

Marcus hadn’t let himself think about it, but when he’d had a lapse in his self-control, he hadn’t pictured anything much further than grasping Esca’s arm and pulling him towards him.

“There were fewer clothes,” Marcus allowed.

Esca laughed and started tugging efficiently at his tunic. “That’s easy enough.”

Marcus had permission to watch, and so he did. He had seen Esca’s body before—he couldn’t seem to stop seeing it—but only glimpses at a time before he made himself stare somewhere else. The more skin Esca revealed, the harder Marcus’s heart pounded and the more his hands shook.

He didn’t know what to do next. There was no next, not in his experience, but Esca was looking at Marcus like he knew a secret, and Marcus desperately wanted him to share it.

When Esca started to work on Marcus’s clothes, he shook him off and ripped them off himself. Esca then leaned back, clearly intending to try to admire Marcus at his leisure, but Marcus had already lost all patience.

He jerked Esca on top of him and kissed him with all his desperation. In turn, Esca grabbed Marcus’s hands and pinned them to the bed. Marcus no longer had the ability to reason. He wanted both Esca to never let go of his wrists and for Esca to let go immediately so Marcus could run his hands all over Esca’s back.

But then Esca adjusted himself so his cock was flush against Marcus’s and that immediately became the most important thing in his world. He closed his eyes, because the sight of Esca on top of him, illuminated by the setting sun, was too much. 

It still wasn’t enough. He pushed against Esca, who was now holding both of his wrists in one hand. Esca’s newly free hand was very slowly sliding down Marcus’s side. Marcus squirmed, until Esca awkwardly gripped both of their cocks in his hand. It was perfect.

“Please,” Marcus said, brokenly. “Please, please.”

Esca’s hand sped up. “Is this what you’ve been dreaming about?” Esca asked, his voice hoarse. "Me taking you apart?"

And with that, Marcus came. He felt it through his whole body, down through his legs. Esca gasped and then followed him.

Later, when Marcus's breathing evened out, Esca turned to him in the small bed.

“Do you know why I came back?” Esca said.

“No,” Marcus said, though he had a good guess.

“Because I realized I could never be free of you, and worse, that I didn’t want to be.”

“I’m glad,” Marcus said and kissed him again, because he could. “I never want to be free of you either.”

His sleep that night was generally untroubled. His dreams bothered him on and off for the rest of his long life, but he never dreamt he was Tantalus again.

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from War Song by Oh Pep, which is honestly way more of a Esca POV song, but I went with it anyways.
> 
> The part in Vergil’s _Georgics_ about the bees is a lot more ridiculous than I made it seem. Vergil had a lot of opinions about bees and most of them were wrong.


End file.
